An Idea
by StopWatchFan
Summary: John has a theory about how Sherlock was inspired: he blamed late night telly. Bad summary. Basic smut, and if you squint, a bit of plot. Of course slash, please review :D


John didn't know how he had gotten in this position; he didn't even know what came over Sherlock to even suggest it - let alone rope him into it.

He supposed it could have been when he got Sherlock hooked on bad telly. He's childishly impressionable - and who knows if the man slept: nasty stuff comes on in the wee hours, and Sherlock's sitting there on the chair, waiting to soak it all in, holding a timer to remind him when to check on the eyes in the microwave next.

Whatever it was, John was preparing a small snack, maneuvering around "experiments" in the fridge and on the table, when Sherlock arrived at the flat, closing the door behind him noticably softer than usual. John even noticed how slowly Sherlock even tried to shut the lock, attempting to make as little noise as possible. After receiving a questioning look from John, his response was as little as: "Mrs. Hudson's taking a nap - I didn't want to disturb her."

John cocked an eyebrow, unconvinced (this _is _the man who shoots the walls when boredom creeps up), but remained silent. The moment he entered the living room, Sherlock was on him - well, close enough; personal space disregarded, Sherlocks right hand pressed against the wall to John's left, their noses practically touching.

"I have an idea." As Sherlock whispered those words, the world slowed for the next few seconds. Johns pulse rose as he stared into the cold eyes of the great detective. Before he knew it, he was travelling towards Sherlocks bedroom, his lips against Sherlocks.

They stumbled blindly, Sherlock pinning John again, now against the closed bedroom door, grinding his hips against Johns while licking finally along his upper set of teeth before leaning away for breath.

Johns vision was blurry, and he wasn't too sure what they were about to do, but he trusted Sherlock.

They went into the bedroom, Sherlock pushing John onto the bed and crawling over his body, straddling his hips.

"Sherlock... What was that idea, now?" John spoke up as Sherlocks hands began to pull Johns shirt above his head.

"Something I caught on your laptop - a fascinating little image." Sherlock replied, slowly unbuttoning his dark shirt.

"You took my laptop again?" John exclaimed, propping himself up on his elbows. At that, Sherlock quickly became stern, his palms flying to Johns bare chest, pushing him back down against the bed.

"I _confiscated_ it - and I'll tell you when to move." At that last bit, Sherlock winked. Too out of character, John thought, he must be recapturing the entirety of the video he had watched.

Not that John had something like this on his laptop. Never.

Ever.

Sherlock continued to remove his shirt and left John just to watch as his pale, smooth skin was exposed. He had to stop himself from staring. Or at least drooling.

Sherlock smiled down at John after tossing his shirt to the side.

"Are you ready?" He asked. John frowned.

"I'm not sure what I'm supposed to be ready for." John replied. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"We are in bed, half naked, me straddling your hips while you're sporting a size-able erection - don't think I didn't notice - and you don't even, for a moment, suppose where this could be going?" Sherlock ranted, placing one hand on John's waist, watching John's every reaction.

John chuckled. "Alright, I get it. I'm ready."

"Good." That was the last thing Sherlock said before he began. He pulled down both of their trousers and shorts quickly. He reached over to the bedside table, opened a drawer and pulled out a tube of lubricant and a condom.

"Is that _mine_?" John asked, gesturing to the lube.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Don't worry, I'll use it gently."

"Not what I'm complaining about." John said flatly but gasped as Sherlock quickly slipped a lubricated finger into his hole.

John let out a contented sigh as the familiar sensation became all he could feel. A small hiss came from the man as Sherlock, the cheeky bugger, skipped a step and added two fingers instead of one. Sherlock cherished the tiny gasp he got from the doctor, locking it away for safekeeping in his mind.

Sherlock had come to cherish the changing expressions and the smallest reactions he got from what he did to the man. A little twitch of his finger could bring a fresh layer of sweat coating John's beautiful skin and a tiny moan that John could never fully suppress, though he tried.

Suddenly, the fingers stopped and John was curious why Sherlock had stopped. He opened his eyes to see Sherlock watching his own work at John's hole; his fingers up to his knuckles dug inside John, the red taut skin.

Sherlock then took John's legs and rested them on his shoulders, getting in position for what would come next. John was unsure as to why Sherlock was slowing down now, but closed his eyes, waiting.

Then it happened.

"John, just let me..." He trailed off, and John felt a wet warmth slide along his hole, and he nearly jumped.

"Sherlock! What the hell are y- oh." John suddenly felt his fury eradicate as he felt Sherlocks tongue slip through the ring of muscle, wriggling around in the most delicious way.

"Jesus, Sh-Sherlock. Where - did - you - _ah_ -" The tongue delved deeper into his channel and John felt incapable of words. John could only bring himself to dig his fingers into Sherlocks soft curls and tug in approval.

At that, the tongue began a new experiment, pumping in and out rapidly. Its length was pretty impressive, something he had never noticed while kissing the detective - also something he should think twice about after this encounter.

"Sher- Sherlock - _Please._" John panted, tugging on Sherlock's hair again. He revelled in the deep growling moan he received from Sherlock as he did so, the low vibrations driving into him along his tongue.

Sherlocks tongue thrusted as far as it could a couple of more times before pulling away, his hands pinning John's hips down on the mattress when they attempted to jut upwards for attention. Sherlock smiled at John - who was sweating, his hair matted against his forehead.

"Sherlock, that was..." He was stopped by Sherlocks finger, pressing against his red lips.

"Shh. We're not done yet, are we?" He said, glancing down at both of their erections, then back. John chuckled, closing his eyes.

"Oh, I'm flattered, though I doubt I did enough to tucker you out already." Sherlock said, ripping open the condom package and slipping it on himself.

"Oh, feeling doubt again, then?" John noted, opening his eyes to an astonishingly blushing Sherlock, his eyes attempting to be fierce to hide his alarm.

Sherlock was silent, lining himself up with Johns hole and pushing in without warning. A new coital form of pouting and shooting the wall, John guessed, gasping and grabbed Sherlocks arm, his fingers digging into the mans skin.

Sherlock continued thrusting into John relentlessly, ignoring the pressure on his arm, revelling in the tight pressure around his cock.

He watched as Johns facial expression changed as Sherlock hit his prostate. His eyelids were heavy, his eyes were hazy, his teeth gritting against a moan he was reluctant to let out. Sherlock loved it. _Mind palace save._

Sherlock leaned down and kissed John gently, watching as his eyes snapped open at the sensation. He wrapped one hand around John's cock, pumping slowly as his hips bucked quickly.

"Sh- Sh-" John found himself incapable of coherent words. He cursed under his breath as he came over Sherlock's hand and their stomachs. Sherlock grinned and thrust a few more times before he felt a heat bubbling in his gut.

"John- I'm going to-" He hissed as he emptied himself into the condom. He sighed contently, nuzzling his nose into John's neck.

"Sherlock, that was..." John began, unsure what to say next as Sherlock began to kiss his ear and down his neck, his hands stroking John's sides gently with his thumbs. "Fucking disgusting - you had your _tongue_, in my fucking arse!"

Sherlock picked himself up off Johns chest, looking at John unconvinced. "You loved it." John frowned. Sherlock just smiled, leaning in, pressing their noses together.

"Yeah, you better stay that far - that tongue's not touching me 'til you brush." John warned, his warm breath rolling down both of their necks.

"Understood." Sherlock mumbled, sitting up and removing himself from John. He tied off the condom and threw it away in the bathroom. John couldn't help but indulge in the sight of Sherlock walking nude across the room, his skin its natural pale with regions of red for obvious reasons, and his dark hair seeming even darker with no clothes to balance it out.

John chuckled as he heard Sherlock gargling before he returned to the bedroom with a small smile. John rolled his eyes as he timidly made his way back into the bed, drawing the covers over both of them.

John took in the scent of mint just before Sherlock kissed him, introducing his tongue immediately. After a moment, they parted for breath and Sherlock pressed his cheek against Johns. Sherlocks index finger ran circles over Johns shoulder blade, as if to ask: _Good enough?_

"Better."

**My FIRST Sherlock fic; please review! :D**


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